


Blood in the Ash

by ofthenora



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, Radiant Quests, Solstheim, world wanderings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 21:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11090259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofthenora/pseuds/ofthenora
Summary: It was simple. Travel to Solstheim and retrieve the three items for three different contacts. Simple but not at all as boring as she thought it would be when she uncovers a basement in a rundown, ash-covered shack outside the walls of Raven Rock.





	Blood in the Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is just a short story I made based on actual things that happened when I visited Solstheim for the first time that I thought was amusing. At this point in the game I was half-way through the main storyline for Dawnguard and the Skyrim game in general, and I had a bunch of radiant quests that required me to go to Solstheim. I've never shared my work before so hopefully youse like it. I don't get to write very much anymore so it's quite rusty but I hope you enjoy it :) If I get around to it, I might just upload some more random encounters I've had :)

Solstheim. It wasn't my intention to come here before I was through with trying to stop the end of the world or at least stop the twilight onslaught of vampires and their quest for the extinction of the sun. But business was calling for me to board the Northern Maiden. After weeks of no leads, I'd finally caught wind of something useful regarding Kharjo's stolen Moon Amulet.  
According to my map, my business should take me no more than a league or so down the coastline in either direction. Hopefully that wasn't far enough to fall victim to any of the island's strange happenings. I suppose I'll find out soon enough as the ship docks in. A lone figure stands rigidly on the jetty, silently watching us pull in. At a quick glance, the colouring and bulkiness of their armour makes me think of Dwarven armour but as they move closer I see that it is of no Dwarven smithing that I am familiar of, in fact it's not even made from metal. Rather, it's bone. It is only then that I notice that the faint grey cloud that hangs in the air is ash. I turn around and sure enough the looming figure of the Red Mountain peers down on us from the distance. We've sailed to Morrowind. My revelation is interrupted by the sound of someone moving down the wharf towards the ship. A finely dressed Dunmer approaches, stepping down onto the deck of the ship. Gjalund nods in greeting. The Dunmer does not stop though, he continues until he is standing before me. I sigh. I was really hoping my presence would go unnoticed.   


Hrodulf's House. Just outside the port town of Raven Rock. That's where I would find Kharjo's moon amulet. So they said. I'd already recovered Sorine's crossbow bolt schematic as well as relieving Elder Othreloth of his flawless emerald. Both had been fairly simple, straightforward tasks. Hopefully this one was too. I pass from underneath Raven Rock's protective walls and out into the open. My map tells me Hrodulf's House is not too far past the farms on the town's outskirts. I've barely walked a hundred feet before a skirmish before me catches my attention. Fire. No, not quite. Three figures that seem to be wielding some sort of fire magicka are attacking a lone man, barely managing to dodge their attacks. Reavers? I hardly think about it before an arrow flies from my bow and strikes the closest of the attackers. My target staggers but does not fall and I loose another to keep their attention on me, not the man. It charges at me, hurling fire. I easily step out of the way and unsheathe my weapon. That's when I realise that these aren't reavers, they're not even human. They stand on two legs, have the shape of any man, but that's where the similarities stop. Primitive facial features and an inner bodily glow that radiates a strange kind of heat and eerie red glow from eye sockets and between ashen tissue reminiscent of muscles and skin. Its mouth opens but no sound follows as it lashes out at me. Its arm strikes my shield with surprising strength despite its lack of a weapon. I use my shield to bash its arm away, letting my blade sink through its chest. I expect a tough resistance when my blade meets its skin but instead it slides through as easily as if I were to stab my blade into the sand. It throws me off and I have to take a step towards it to steady myself. Its mouth forms into the shape of an "o", and the glow from within it seems to dim and I know that I've killed it. But it doesn't slacken. Instead its body just seems to disintegrate into a faintly grey ash, spotted with flakes of fire. Were they a summoning? The result of a necromancer's spell? I look around for an answer, only to see the same thing happen as the man dressed in the bone armour characteristic of this island finishes off his own creature. He sheathes his sword with a grunt before turning to me.  
"Thanks . . . I wasn't sure I'd make it off this farm alive. I wish I could have said the same for my man over there." He gestures with a nod of his head to a man lying face down in the ground, clad in similar armour. I clean my blade of ash before sheathing it as well.  
"What were those things?" I ask. He spits into the soil.  
"Some of the Redoran guards have taken to calling them Ash Spawn. Me? I don't care what they're called. All I know is that they're a danger to Raven Rock and they need to be stopped." So I suppose they aren't some kind of necromancer's trick. I'm not sure whether I find comfort in that or not.  
"How did that bring you to this old farm?" I ask.  
"I was going to search for clues that might lead me to where they are." I must have given him a skeptical look because he gives me a hard look. "I know it isn't the best place to start but we know they've been coming from this direction."  
"Any luck then?" He shakes his head.  
"Damn things attacked us before we were able to give the place a thorough look over."  
"That's a shame." I say quietly. I make a move to leave but I can see the unasked question in his face. I add, "Well if I come across anything unusual, I'll be sure to let you know, or the guards at least. I'm afraid I must be on my way." He nods in understanding but I also see disappointment.  
"I don't feel comfortable leaving Raven Rock behind so I'll be counting on it. Safe travels, wood elf." He says. I nod my goodbye before continuing on my way. In the distance, Red Mountain looms, spewing a seemingly endless cloud of the grey, weightless substance into the air. Ash Spawn. Surely the name could only be in likeness to the colour of their skin and the fiery glow within them. Surely, they couldn't actually be made from ash. Could they? I push the thought out of my mind as a house looms in the distance. As I come closer I think 'house' may be the wrong word. Shack seems more suitable. Two wooden structures stand at right angles to each other, with only three walls each. Sunlight filters through missing planks in the roof. Apparently, Hrodulf isn't home. Was Hrodulf a trader?  
I've hardly taken two steps into the house when I hear a sound like shifting sand behind me. I turn to see the head and shoulders of two ash spawn emerging from the discoloured soil. I suppose that's how they got their names. I get that same unsettling feeling as I did before when my blade pierces through them. When I'm sure that no more of them are going to come writhing from underneath my feet, I go back to searching the house. Someone has been here recently, that much is evident by the food that sits upon one of the tables. Only the thinnest layer of ash covers it and the chair. I examine one of the shelves and find a strongbox baring the symbol of a ship. The insignia of the East Empire Trading Company. I try the lid but it's locked. I smile to myself. As if that had ever stopped me. As with all decent strongboxes, the lock is designed to be complex but not enough for me to take more than a few moments to pick it open. I prise the lid off. The usual loot, a collection of gold, some lockpicks, gemstones, jewellery. I pick up a golden necklace by its chain, inspecting the pendant. Pure gold but with the same ship symbol in raised relief on it. I pocket the necklace and return the strongbox to its spot in the shelf.  
What business would an Imperial trader have with bandits? Then I remember that Maven Black-Briar's influence with the East Empire Trading Company is no coincidence. I suppose its hardly surprising to learn they're associating with bandits as well as the likes of thieves and assassins. I suppose with great power comes great corruption. I scoff at the thought of the Thalmor condoning such relationships.  
I move to the second half of the house, looking for something that might tell me where Hrodulf may have gone or when he'll be back. A log, a journal even, but I find no such thing. He's probably just gone into town. I look up at the sun which is deep into its descent towards the horizon. Surely he would be back by now? Then I suppose with the Ash Spawn about, maybe it was safer nowadays to seek the safety of Raven Rock's walls. Maybe. I'm about to take a second look over the first half of the house when I spot a trapdoor in the corner. Or maybe Hrodulf is hanging out in his basement. I take the ring in my palm and heave open the trapdoor. It comes open more easily than I expect and I swing down onto the ladder. Before I've even made it to the ground I hear voices and laughter.  
"Listen to this one!" There's a rasping as someone clears their throat. In a poor imitation of a woman's voice they continue, "'My nights have been impossible to bear without you. I beg of you: please depart that blasted isle and return to Solitude at once!" Was Hrodulf acting as a kind of emissary between bandits in Skyrim and reavers in Solstheim? Another voice begins cackling as I hear the sound of metal banging against wood.  
"No more! What a fool." A bookshelf and a table propped onto its side block my view of them and their view of me. Thankfully, they didn't notice my entering. I sneak to the bookshelf and take a cautious peak around it. Two reavers sit at a round table. One of them takes a deep swig from their tankard before slamming it back down on the table with a thud. There's the source of the banging.  
The other stops their laughing.  
"Do you think he's the one we left in the tunnel?" The one with the tankard snorts.  
"Who cares? Nords all look the same to me." Well there goes that theory I suppose.  
"Ha! Wait . . . Did you hear that?" I stiffen. Did they know I was here? I hadn’t even made a sound, had I? But my worries are premature as the reaver continues. "Sounds like those ash spawns are back."  
"Well at least if the other Nord returns, they'll take care of him." They erupt into throaty laughter again as I take an arrow from my quiver. The second one takes no more than two steps before he falls backwards over his chair, the gold of my arrow glinting in the candlelight. I search their bodies for the silver moon amulet but have no such luck, finding only gold rings on one and two plain silver necklaces pierced with amethysts. What was with the Dunmer and wearing two necklaces? I'm not complaining though as I shove the new additions into my knapsack. Maybe I should come here more often. I push aside the fallen tankard to pick up a letter, no doubt the source of the reaver's amusement. Sure enough it is a letter addressed to Hrodulf from someone named Bjornolfr. Looks like Hrodulf's circumstances before the reavers showed up was not much better. I suppose Bjornolfr was the 'other Nord' they were talking about it.  
A further search of the basement and I locate Hrodulf's own journal. A quick skim of it makes me uneasy. However the table on which I found it lies beside a fat chest. Among the loot, something silver catches the light of my torch and I reach in to pick up a necklace. Although no gems adorn it, as Kharjo had said, plain is not a word I would use to describe it; it has an unmistakable shimmer like that of something from the heavens. The moon amulet. I separate it away from the other jewellery I found. Although it is clearly distinguishable from an ordinary silver necklace, this thief knows that it's better to be safe than sorry.  
Task three out of three. But I know I can't leave yet, not until I find out what happened to my Nordic friend. His journal mentioned a tunnel dug by Hrodulf himself, hidden away by a bookshelf. Sure enough when I haul the bookshelf aside, I find a passage lit by torches. I immediately see Hrodulf's pickaxe embedded deep into the rocky wall, as well as his shovel lying on the ground. I turn the bend and understand why he might have heard a rumbling. The twisting gears and almost rhythmic puff of steam boasts the influence of the Dwemer. Yet no hidden Dwemer underground city lies before me. Not even a storeroom. The space is narrow with very simple Dwemer furnishing; a single stone table, chest off to the side and a counter. And a very motionless body. They wear the blue and beige robes typical of an aspiring mage, as well as the thick, dark beard. The Nordic dagger by their body tells me that this must be Hrodulf himself. I feel the weight of disappointment and helplessness wash over me. How long has he been dead? By the rich red, still wet bloodstain on his robes it couldn't have been long. If I had come here first instead of getting the emerald and the schematic first, could I have saved him? I bow my head. Did I fail you? But then I see something clutched in his hand. I ease the paper from his fingers and try to straighten it out. The letter is so bloodstained that I can only make out a few of the words but it's enough to know that this was intended for Bjornolfr. A last, desperate message judging by the shaky writing. I push away the sudden feeling of guilt and begin searching the small room. A spherical Dwemer structure takes up the back wall of the room, it's blue glass and gold skeleton gleaming in the firelight. Was this the source of Hrodulf's madness? No doubt. A thorough inspection of it and everything in the room gives me no indication to its purpose or any method of how to manipulate it. Well I suppose that's it then.  
When I come back up, I'm surprised to see there is still daylight. Enough at least to show me that I'm filthy with ash and blood. I spot a body of water south of the house and make my way down there. Off to the side of the water I see another family of netches, floating silently above the shoreline. A movement closer to me catches my attention and I stop midstep. If it was possible for a flame atronarch and a spriggan to have a child, this is probably what it would like. The flame spriggan-looking creature eyes me but does not make a move. It doesn't need to for me to know that this is not a friendly creature. The moment I make a move to my weapon it comes for me. It takes three of my arrows to fell it. Upon closer inspection, I take back the flame atronarch comment. It looks more like a . . . Well, a spriggan but as if it had been drained of any fluid. A dried spriggan. I ease some of its bark from its body for further inspection once I get back to Skyrim. As I look up though, I see another lifeless body crumpled before a rowboat, as if they were trying to make a break for it but didn't make it. Between him and the boat, lies a chest, a satchel and a strongbox, just like the one in Hrodulf's house. Then a sudden realisation hits me. The body in the Dwemer room wasn't Hrodulf. This was him. But if this was Hrodulf then the Nord mage must have been . . . The bloodstained letter clutched in his hand, written in a hurry by Hrodulf addressed to . . . Then the person inside must have been Bjornolfr.

Wait, Bjornolfr was a man? Then I remember the name 'Bjorn' in the journal and I remember hearing Bjorn was a common Nordic male name. If Bjornolfr was a man then that must have meant that Hrodulf was- Bjornolfr and Hrodulf were . . . Oh. Oh my.


End file.
